


across the miles between us

by foldingcranes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 13, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Baby Jack Kline, Barebacking, Canon Temporary Character Death, Depression, Grieving Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kid Fic, M/M, Pining, Reunion Sex, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29588928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foldingcranes/pseuds/foldingcranes
Summary: This is how Dean starts to emulate his father’s journey: with fire, death, and loss.And this how Dean writes his own version of said story:“Let’s go home,” he croaks, voice hoarse with disuse, digging for his car keys in his pocket. He throws them at Sam and makes sure that Jack is safely tucked in the crook of his arm before walking towards the Impala.He doesn’t turn to look at Cas’ ashes. Not even once.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 198
Collections: Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Reunion





	across the miles between us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Briston](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Briston/gifts).



> I love reunion stories and I love canon reunion stories!!! So I was delighted when I saw that you liked them too, dear Briston (yes, I stalked your AO3 works and bookmarks, I'm sorry.) I really hope you like your present, and that you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Many thanks to my friend stuffy_jj for, as always, her stellar beta-reading skills.

The fire burns long and hard, and Dean stays until the last embers fizzle out.

By the time Sam squeezes his shoulder to let him know that it’s time to _move on_ , the small baby in his arms starts to blink awake, light-blue eyes wide and confused, a little all-too-familiar frown on his face.

Jack doesn’t cry, and neither does Dean. Instead, the boy waves a tiny hand at Dean’s face until he offers him a finger, just to see what Jack does. Dean doesn’t know what he’s hoping for, he doesn’t know if the kid’s inherited the same inherent _evilness_ and desire to destroy and poison that Lucifer possessed.

All he knows, as Jack grabs his finger in a clumsy, loose grip, is that this is how John Winchester started.

This is how Dean starts to emulate his father’s journey: with fire, death, and loss.

And this how Dean writes his own version of said story:

“Let’s go home,” he croaks, voice hoarse with disuse, digging for his car keys in his pocket. He throws them at Sam and makes sure that Jack is safely tucked in the crook of his arm before walking towards the Impala.

He doesn’t turn to look at Cas’ ashes. Not even once.

*

Jack’s wails are the only thing dragging Dean out of his nightmares. He sleeps in a small bassinet right next to Dean’s bed, close enough that he can reach him, soothe him with a gentle touch and rock him back to sleep. He’s constantly hungry and needy—for food, for touch, even for eye contact, as if constantly wanting to be seen. Bitterly, Dean thinks he can relate to that, and he wonders if Jack will become a mirror of him as a kid: alone, words stolen by the trauma of losing the only parent who understood him. Dean idly wonders if his self-ban on alcohol will crumble under the weight of his own grief, accelerating his full transformation into John Winchester.

Cas is gone, turned into ash, reduced to prayers that lead to nowhere, composed of all the things Dean was never brave enough to say. He prays _please come back_. He prays _I need you_. He prays _I love you_.

But the only time he gets to see Cas now is inside his own nightmares. Sometimes he dreams of Lucifer ripping him apart, Cas’ wings burned on the ground like a petroglyph. Sometimes it’s Cas walking into a lake, disappearing under the water. Sometimes it’s Cas letting go of Dean’s hand to stay in Purgatory.

Dean’s always longing, and Cas is always leaving and theirs is a relationship made of ill-timed efforts and miscommunication, of breaking and entering into their feelings. Of Dean, waiting but never asking.

Dean wishes he had asked. But he’s stuck now, with a child he was never destined to raise, and a nightly rerun of his and Cas’ best hits, with no end in sight. Jack needs Dean like no one has needed him in a long time, not since Sam himself was a small baby.

Sam has all but washed his hands of the terrifying mission of raising a newborn since he never has actually interacted with a baby for more than five seconds. It’s fine, Dean knows that his brother still has high hopes when it comes to getting Mary back, and Dean isn’t interested in bursting his bubble: as long as Sam is occupied, he will leave him alone.

And so, Dean changes diapers and sings soft lullabies. He tests warm milk on his inner wrists and goes on supply runs while wearing a sling with Jack napping in it. What starts as an obligation, as a duty he had to fulfill (for _Cas/ _) becomes Dean’s entire reason for leaving the bed every day.__

__There were moments, at first, during the hardest nights, when Dean looked at a crying Jack and hated him. But then he’d see the way he scrunched his nose in displeasure, and his wide blue eyes, and think of Cas._ _

__One morning, Dean wakes up, and before he can even think, he’s getting Jack out of his bassinet and laying him on his chest, pressing a soft kiss to his fluffy blonde hair. Pours into him all the love bottled up inside and learns the hard way that there’s no going back when you realize that you love someone more than your own life._ _

____

*

Dean’s boiling water at six in the morning when Sam enters the kitchen wearing jogging gear, looking for the blender with sleep-crusted eyes.

“Morning,” Sam yawns, opening the fridge and staring at the contents, probably looking for his weird protein powder. Dean’s too busy preparing formula to care about Sam’s gross morning shakes.

“Hn,” Dean grunts in response. Jack woke him up from a nightmare at least twice during the night, and he’s starting to suspect that the kid can sense them, from the number of times that Jack’s pulled him out of them. Still, he’s dead on his feet and ready to pass out, like every day since they lost Cas and Mary.

His chest constricts at the thought, and Dean tells himself to pay attention to what he’s doing, to drive away from the terrible thoughts before he’s breaking into the liquor cabinet. A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of it, and he turns to look at Sam, who’s frowning at him in concern.

“Dean, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Sammy,” he grunts, pulling away and turning his back on Sam to start the coffee maker.

Sam follows him and stops at his side, like the annoying little brother that he is. “Are you sure about that? It’s just… it’s been weeks and I feel like I’ve barely seen you out of your room…”

“I’m taking care of a two-month-old baby, Sam, what do you expect?” Dean snaps at him, not feeling guilty when Sam winces.

“I know. Look, I’m sorry I haven’t helped enough, it’s just that I’ve been trying to find—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean sighs, waving Sam away. “You’ve been trying to find Mom, it’s fine, I get it.”

Sam frowns again. “I was hoping you’d help me with that today, actually.”

“I just told you I’m busy,” Dean grumbles, trying hard not to feel annoyed. But he’s tired, and he doesn’t want to talk to anyone. Spending the last two months with Jack has been better than talking to other adults simply because Jack doesn’t know any words.

“Dean, I know we can get her back, I just need your help to find a way faster. And once we’ve got her, we could try and—”

Dean knows what Sam is about to say, and he slams a fist on the kitchen counter to stop him immediately. “No.”

“Dean—”

“I said no!”

“Fuck, Dean. _Please_ , help me understand why—I know you want Mom back. And I know you want Cas back, too,” Sam pleads, eyes big and watery and looking too pitiful. And Dean feels like he’s about to win the Shittiest Brother Award because he can’t deal with that bullshit.

He can’t get his hopes up. He wouldn’t survive it.

“You do whatever the fuck you want,” Dean hisses, going back to finishing Jack’s bottle with shaking hands. “I’m busy, okay? Satan’s kid isn’t going to raise himself.”

He leaves the kitchen in a hurry, a bitter flavor in his mouth. Calling Jack “Satan’s kid” feels unfair, because he looks more and more like Cas with each day that passes. With that painful thought in mind, he goes back to the room and puts the bottle on his bedside table, so he can get a still sleepy Jack out of his bassinet. He looks at Dean with drowsy, confused eyes, and burrows into his arms contentedly when Dean maneuvers him into the correct position. Dean feeds him quietly, occasionally humming some Zepp. Every time he catches himself humming _Thank You_ , he has to stop himself before he gets too emotional. It was the last track in the mixtape that he made for Cas, and he wonders if the guy ever listened to it.

Probably not, it was a pretty crappy gift and Cas liked a different type of music, anyway.

By the time he’s done feeding Jack, he cleans his little mouth with a tissue, and settles into the correct position for burping, smiling at how sleepy Jack looks again. Dean keeps at it until Jack’s done, then cradles him in his arms again for some well-deserved cuddles, sitting on the edge of the bed and rocking him slightly.

“I bet your dad would have enjoyed this, uh?” Dean whispers, looking at the small picture of Cas he put on his desk, right next to the picture of his mom. “Wanna see him, uh? Look, that’s him,” he tells Jack, pointing at the picture. It’s just a fake FBI ID and Cas looks like shit (somehow) in it, but it’s the only one Dean has. “I bet he’d get a kick out of this; he’d spoil you rotten. He’d have been good at that for you.”

Dean’s throat closes up. Cas would have done a better job than him. He’d have provided Jack with more competent care. He’s the one who read parenting books and decided to be Jack’s dad, unlike Dean.

He’s just some dude, trying not to mess things up. With a kiss to Jack’s forehead and a tired sigh, Dean puts Jack back in his bassinet, then leans on the edge of it to stare at him.

“Fuck, I wish you’d met the guy,” he says, then turns his back on the crib to go rummage in his closet for something clean to wear, completely missing the golden glow of Jack’s eyes.

*

There’s a damn leak somewhere in the bunker, and Dean can’t be bothered to find and fix that mundane problem. It’s been raining cats and dogs for the last week, but Dean can’t bring himself to care. Jack’s been fussy for days, buzzed up with a strange sort of energy that keeps him awake most of the night, and it’s starting to worry him. The kid isn’t even a year old and Dean’s already losing his mind over it.

_What if he’s sick? What do you do?_

Sam’s away on a hunt and Dean’s alone with Jack and his own neuroses and paranoia, rocking Jack in his arms and begging him to just _sleep_ until there’s a noise outside that makes him go deadly still. Carefully, Dean lays Jack in his bassinet and grabs the gun he’s been keeping on the bedside table (recent experience taught him to stop keeping a gun under his pillow), and Jack’s baby monitor just in case.

“I’ll be right back, buddy,” Dean leaves his room with his gun carefully raised, walking slowly, until he hears the noise again and hides in the hallway. There are footsteps that seem to come from the map table room, and he silently and slowly walks over there, ready to point his gun at whoever has been stupid enough to invade his home—

And stops right in his tracks.

There, standing in the middle of the room, a very soaked Cas pitifully looks at him, still dripping water from the storm.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas?”

“It’s me,” Cas nods, bold enough to step up to Dean for a closer look, his arms limp at his side, clothing looking absolutely disgusting. “You can run all the usual tests if you want.”

“Yeah—yeah. Right,” with shaking hands, Dean grabs a silver knife from the map table and slices Cas’ palm open.

Cas passes all tests with flying colors.

And that’s when Dean just—just _crumbles_. “Cas,” he croaks, finally engulfing Cas into a tight, trembling hug. “It’s you,” Dean whispers, full of awe. “How?”

Cas hugs him back and Dean melts into his touch, resting his cheek on Cas’ shoulder. “I don’t—I don’t really know.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Dean pulls back a little, taking a moment to stare at Cas’ face. “You powered up?”

Cas winces. “Not really, I’m afraid it’ll be a few days before my Grace is back to normal.”

“That’s okay, buddy,” Dean pats his shoulder, ignoring how much he wants to hug Cas again, how much he wants to _kiss_ him, and touch his face, and tell him about all the prayers and the things that he’s kept to himself. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes and I’ll make you some soup.”

“Will you tell me everything I’ve missed?”

“Yeah, but first,” Dean smiles, but it’s still wobbly. “I need you to meet someone.”

*

As Dean secretly predicted, Cas and Jack get along like a house on fire. The kid is growing fast, a little bit quicker than a normal human baby, and Cas is the one that earns Jack’s first smile; it’s a very tender moment for both of them that Dean misses because he isn’t in the room, too busy being roped by Sam into doing research for their quest to recover Mom.

His chest aches when Cas tells him about Jack’s first smile, and aches again when he starts noticing that Cas and Jack seem to share an unrivaled connection, anticipating and understanding each other’s needs on a level that’s beyond human. Soon, Jack has another bassinet in Cas’ room and childcare is being split between the two, giving Dean his first nights alone since he and Sam brought Jack into the bunker.

There’s no one to pull him out of his nightmares, and Cas’ miraculous return doesn’t seem to calm down his subconscious. Dean still dreams of all the ways he’s lost him, with the new addition of all the ways he could lose Cas again. And Jack.

The more Cas takes over Jack Duty, the more Dean silently steps back, feeling unneeded. After all, Cas is Jack’s real family, and Dean was only a placeholder, someone who was there for him after everything went to shit, and willing to step up for the kid that didn’t ask to be born in that mess.

Dean dreams, and dreams. Dreams of Cas walking away, Jack in his arms. Moving away simply because he’s never stayed for too long at the bunker because Dean’s failed to make it a home for Cas, because he kicked Cas out _once_ and it must’ve forever marred Cas’ relationship with the place.

He goes back to sleeping his usual four hours, sometimes not sleeping at all, when he falls asleep in the middle of the library during a particularly long and frustrating bout of research, his arms on the table and his head pillowed on top of them. He’s shaken awake by a soft touch on his right shoulder, right where Cas’ handprint used to be, and he leans into it for a second before awareness comes back to him and his brain decides to come online.

Fuck, his neck hurts.

“Dean, you should go to bed,” Cas is still touching him, but removes his hand when Dean leans back to properly sit on his chair.

“What time issit?” Dean mumbles, stretching his sore muscles slightly.

“Late enough that you should be in bed,” Cas sasses him and Dean almost smiles at it, but he’s too tired to process anything. Without warning, Cas reaches for him again, running his thumb down Dean’s right eye, over the dark skin of a nasty eyebag that must look designer. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

“It’s fine,” Dean shrugs. “I guess it’s kind of weird to go back to sleeping alone, after months of having the little dude with me.”

“You should’ve told me, Dean,” Cas frowns. “Maybe we should put Jack back in your room, permanently.”

“No, it’s okay,” Dean grunts, shying away from Cas’ touch. “You’re his real dad, you should spend time with him.”

“Dean,” Cas says, voice sharp. “You’re his parent, too. You’ve been taking care of him since the day he was born.”

“I guess,” Dean shrugs again, feeling even more embarrassed than before. He feels like he’s kind of throwing a tantrum over something really dumb.

“Is this why you haven’t been sleeping?”

“It’s just—I…” Dean swallows back a sudden desire to cry. “I’m just—you were gone and…”

Jesus, he sounds like a blubbering idiot. The sting behind his eyes feels more urgent. He’s pathetic.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas takes the chair next to Dean and sits, gently resting a hand on Dean’s arm, trying to get him to look at him. “I’m here now. I won’t be leaving again.”

“Cas,” Dean says, swallowing back a sob, sadness still like a stone and lodged in his throat, choking him down, “You can’t—you can’t say stuff like that to me. You always have a foot right outside the door, and I’m always a damn mess after you’re gone, and I—I can’t go through this shit again.”

Cas seems to still for a moment, quiet. They’re in the same room and yet, he’s so far away that Dean feels like he’s losing him all over again, and he’s sick and tired of losing Cas, of mourning him, of holding whatever is left of him between his hands.

“Cas, _please_.”

“I can’t—I can’t make any promises, Dean,” Cas begs, and Dean’s heart sinks.

 _Just promise me,_ he thinks. _Promise me you’ll never leave me again._

“Why?” Before he can ask again, Cas removes his hand from Dean’s arm and cradles his face gently, forcing him to look at him.

“Because I’m always going to do whatever I can to protect you and Jack.”

The determination on Cas’ face makes Dean want to crumple, and he’s torn between crying like a baby and—doing something that he wouldn’t have dared to do in his wildest dreams, but Cas’ gentle touch seems to make it a possibility. Something that could be attainable, if Dean dares to be brave enough.

He’s lost Cas once, twice, even a third time. He’s not losing him again.

Dean takes a leap, and shortens the distance between them, pressing a hesitant kiss to Cas’ lips, eyes fluttering closed. He starts shaking, pulse racing too fast, and he’s about to pull back with an apology on the tip of his tongue when Cas—Cas starts kissing him back.

 _Holy shit_.

Cas’ clumsy paws leave his face only to grab at Dean by the waist, pulling him closer, until Dean’s climbing into Cas’ lap, straddling him. “Where’s Jack?” He manages to ask between hungry, sloppy kisses.

Cas takes that as a chance to kiss lower, mouthing at Dean’s neck in a way that sends tingles down his spine. “Asleep in my room, my grace will sense it when he wakes.”

“Damn, that’s one amazing baby monitor,” Dean laughs, the rush of joy taking over his body as Cas puts his hands behind Dean’s thighs and effortlessly lifts him up.

“Room,” Cas grunts, and fuck, Dean’s never been carried so easily by another dude before. It’s everything he’s ever fantasized about when he thinks about Cas.

Cas carries him all the way to Dean’s room. He closes the door with his foot and then dumps Dean on the bed, immediately crawling over him.

“You have no idea,” Cas whispers, gently resting his hand on Dean’s cheek for a moment. “You have no idea how much you mean to me, Dean.”

Dean gulps, choking on his own affection for Cas. “Same goes for you, buddy.”

Cas smiles, leaning down for a sweet kiss, slower than the previous ones. Less frantic. He unbuttons Dean’s shirt slowly, stealing touches and kisses, then sits back to help Dean get rid of his clothes. Dean does the same, unwrapping Cas from every layer with shaking hands, pressing kisses to the skin he’s longed to touch for so long.

He runs his hands down Cas’ firm chest in wonder until Cas pushes him back so Dean’s laying on his back again. He sucks a bruise into Dean’s neck, then another near a nipple. He licks them and kisses them until they peak, until Dean’s arching his back and making embarrassing noises.

“Cas,” Dean says, voice hoarse. “I want you to fuck me.”

Cas presses a kiss to Dean’s belly, humming. “I’ll give you whatever you want, Dean.”

“We gotta— _fuck_ —we gotta be fast, Cas. Before Jack wakes up.”

Cas nods, looking very solemn, and pats Dean’s thigh. “Next time, I’ll take my time with you.”

 _Next time_.

Dean whines. “Cas, _please_.”

Way too eagerly, Dean spreads his legs, looking at Cas’ through hooded eyes. “Lube’s in my drawer,” he breathes, watching the way Cas scrambles to the side of the bed and reaches for the drawer. Lube in hand, he takes back his rightful place between Dean’s leg, taking a moment to look at him.

Suddenly feeling (even more) naked, Dean flushes to the tip of his ears. “What?”

Cas’ eyes go soft, and he pets the inside of Dean’s thighs with the kind of touch that feels like genuine affection. “You’re beautiful.”

Dean closes his eyes, too emotional to say anything intelligent. “You can’t say shit like that to me.”

“I can,” Cas leans down to kiss Dean’s cheek. “And I will.”

Cas presses a slick finger inside, Dean clenching around him in anticipation already, lifting his hips a little in an attempt to chase Cas’ careful touch. He begs for more and Cas gives him what he wants, adding another lube-soaked finger, pushing and pulling until Dean’s cock starts leaking, hard and flushed between his trembling legs.

“Want you inside,” Dean babbles, letting out soft little moans. “In me. Want you so much,” words seem to leave his mouth unfiltered, like he’s suddenly forgotten how to be embarrassed. Cas holds him down with a hand on his hip, angling his fingers just _right_ , curling inside and pushing deeper, until Dean’s entire body is shaking with the need to come.

“Cas, I can’t-- _I need you_ ,” Dean sobs when Cas pulls his fingers out of him, only to go utterly quiet when the tip of Cas’ cock brushes against his rim. He loops up to Cas’ eyes, so darkened by want and desire, and grabs onto the sheets as Cas pushes in slowly until he’s buried to the hilt.

Sweaty and panting, Cas seems as overwhelmed as Dean feels. “You’re so warm,” he breathes, almost reverently, pulling out and pushing back in, and Dean has to bite his own lip to stave off what feels like an explosive orgasm.

“C’mere, big guy,” Dean beckons him with a breathless smile. “Not gonna break, you can give me your all.”

That’s all Cas seems to need. He leans down, crowding Dean against the bed and grabbing his thighs, his mouth just inches away from Dean’s, and starts thrusting hard and deep, mouthing at the corner of Dean’s lips, going as fast and rough as Dean begs him, only looking away from Dean’s eyes to stare at the desperate way Dean’s fisting his own cock.

Dean pants and whines as he comes almost silently, feeling like the air has been punched out of him. Cas groans, rolling his hips until he’s coming inside of Dean. He kisses Dean’s jaw and pulls out before Dean feels too oversensitive, resting his head on his shoulder. Dean uses the position to kiss Cas’ sweaty, disgusting hair.

Eyelids way too heavy to stay up, Dean feels himself float in the pleasant feeling of the afterglow, distantly noting that Cas is saying something and leaving the bed for a hot minute before coming back with a damp cloth that he uses to clean him up.

Dean closes his eyes, smiling when he feels Cas’ lips on his forehead. “I’m glad you’re back, Cas.”

“Sleep, Dean,” he hears Cas hum. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And this time, Dean believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [here](https://twitter.com/foldingcranes/). I promise I don't bite.


End file.
